


What the Fates Decree

by LadyJaneGrey92



Category: Hercules (2014)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, F/M, Just a bit of fun, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Sexual Content, hopefully its funny too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25139413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJaneGrey92/pseuds/LadyJaneGrey92
Summary: Atalanta is fed up with Autolycus and his insults, and resolves to put as much distance between him and herself as her circumstances will allow. But that is difficult, considering he never lets her out of his sight.  Worst of all though, is that she is far from immune to his masculine charm--a fact that infuriates her all the more.Autolycus emphatically does NOT want a woman.  Women are expensive, to say nothing of the fact that they have a bad habit of disrupting a man's plans faster than any advancing army.  Why then, for all that is holy, can he not stop thinking of Atalanta?
Relationships: Autolycus/Atalanta
Comments: 24
Kudos: 9





	1. Gold Dust Woman

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a bit of fun. A drabble at worst, or a bit of an ode to a fun movie.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atalanta has lost all patience with Autolycus. Infuriating man is always underfoot, and always has something insensitive to say. Until she gives him a challenge that does the impossible--and renders him speechless. 
> 
> Autolycus has plans for his life--plans that include amassing small mountains of gold, all for himself. They do NOT include a woman. But it would seem the gods have conspired against him when it comes to Atalanta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Rock on, gold dust woman  
> Take your silver spoon  
> Dig your grave--
> 
> Heartless challenge  
> Pick your path, and I'll pray  
> Wake up in the morning,  
> See your sunrise loves to go down.
> 
> Lousy lovers  
> Pick their prey  
> But they never cry out loud  
> Cry out--
> 
> Well, did she make you cry?  
> Make you break down?  
> Shatter your illusions of love?  
> And is it over now?  
> Do you know how  
> To pick up the pieces and go home…”
> 
> (”Gold Dust Woman,” Fleetwood Mac, 1977)

****

**Chapter 1—Gold Dust Woman**

“Atalanta!”

She turned to see Autolycus coming down the hillside, winding his way through the tall trees towards her.

“What?” she asked in her most icy, uninviting tone.

He continued undeterred. “Where are you going?”

“To the river,” she said warily. “Why?”

“Alone?” he drew up level with her at last.

“As you see.”

“Unguarded?” He crossed his arms before her.

She put a hand on her hip in frustration, determined not to admire the strength of his arms. “I have no need of a guard. As you know well enough.”

“But there are outlaws known to be in these woods. If a large band should happen on you, you by yourself, even with your skills may not be sufficient.”

She closed her eyes and prayed for strength. Since the death of Tydeus, Autolycus had become far too high-handed with her for her taste, and had taken to shadowing her every move. And as his presence unsettled her far more than she liked, it had begun to rankle. She attributed much of it to what they were all feeling—the loss of a friend, a brother-in-arms, and a new awareness of their own mortality, as well as that of their remaining friends. His loss was a heavy one, and for that, she prayed for the gods to send her patience for Autolycus. But her patience was running thin.

“There are no outlaws hereabouts, or I would have heard them.”

“You have been surprised before. No one, not even a huntress of your caliber, is invincible entirely. You should not wander by yourself.”

“But I need privacy.”

“Why?” he huffed a laugh. “You are no great lady, after all. What privacy could you need? We are all brothers here.”

She hid the sting of his words from him with anger. She would be patient no more, and she would tolerate his interference no longer. What in the name of all the gods went on in his head? How could he justify both his overprotection of her and still offend her womanhood so?

In the past, Tydeus had served as her escort when Autolycus had become unbearable this way. Though not immune to her, he was, at least, silent and respectful. She had trusted him above all the others, save Hercules. But she did not want to ask Hercules—his time was much better spent with more important matters.

“If you think me so insufficient to care for myself, then send Amphiaraus to me,” she hissed, stepping into his space, pointing her finger into his chest. “I don’t want you.”

His eyes narrowed, assessing. She did not like to admit how it set her pulse racing to see those eyes so close, to have their green intensity so focused on herself.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said with a huff of a laugh. “It’s not like you have anything I haven’t already seen elsewhere. I’m only here to protect your back, not watch it.”

“Then it should be no trouble for you to do as I wish, and send me Amphiaraus. Or else, leave me in peace.” She turned on her heel and walked away.

“You would have an old man as your protector?” He called after her. “What if your attackers are beyond the reach of his spear?”

She wheeled back around on him, furious. “I don’t need a protector! I can take care of myself! And I most certainly do not need you!” She turned again and made her way back down to the river without waiting for a reply.

Blasted man! Why could he never leave her in peace? Always he had something to say, and always, his barbs found their mark—as he knew all too well. He had a way of getting to her like no one else. Why he took such a joy in tormenting her, she did not know. He had no problems with women, as far as she could tell. She had never seen him prefer boys over women, and had seen him lead plenty of the latter category willingly off to his bed. That he respected her skills as a warrior, she had no question. On the battlefield, they moved in concert, and had looked out for one another more than once. But off the field of battle, he would again provoke her ire at every opportunity, saving the harshest edge of his wit for her and her alone. Well, whatever amusement it gave him to abuse her thus, she was finished putting up with it. If it took an arrow through the heart to silence his tongue, she was rapidly finding that option more and more appealing. Indeed, only her love for Hercules had prevented it already on a number of occasions.

She reached the river at last, and stripped out of her armor and clothing. She reclined on the bank a moment, enjoying her freedom and the warmth of the sun on her bare skin. Then she stretched herself and waded into the water, pushing off from the bank, sighing into the water’s cool caresses as she began to swim.

The day was hot, and the water cool and refreshing. Here the river was not deep, and the waters flowed like a layer of crystal over a bed of rounded pebbled stones. It was the perfect place for a wash and a swim.

Alone.

She felt herself relax with the exercise, allowing the waters to soothe her tired muscles, wash away her anger and confusion. But the more she swam, the more her mind returned to the problem of Autolycus. Why did he haunt her shadow relentlessly, only to tease and offend her? If she was not a woman in his eyes, why did he feel the need to protect her as one? And why volunteer to do so when he clearly wished her far away?

It hurt her heart more than she wanted to admit that he considered her one of the boys. Skilled she may be, but why could he not own that she could be both skilled, and a woman? Why did he at every turn say things to hurt and isolate her? His words were spoken with deliberate purpose, but what the purpose could be, she could not divine.

And above all else, why had the gods fashioned such a handsome man around such an adder’s tongue? Why did her eyes want to linger on him? Why did she find herself admiring the strength of his body as he moved, the honeyed tone of his voice, the enticing pink softness of his lips in their nest of dark beard? The brilliant green depths of his eyes?

And why, in spite of all else, did she still hunger to see approval in his eyes? Not only for her skills. But for—herself. That was the most hurtful thing of all, and it made the sting of his words bite even more deeply.

He will never look at her differently, and to wish that he would only invited more pain. It was up to her, therefore, to accustom herself to this truth.

She was a warrior, after all. What did she care for one man’s lose words? What did she care if his face were as handsome as the dawn? She had no need of him. The sooner she hardened her heart to him, the better. She therefore resolved to put as much distance between herself and Autolycus as possible until this could be accomplished.

It should not take long, surely. He was only a man, after all. Soon it would be as if he had never been important to her at all.

* * *

Autolycus watched Atalanta storm away from him, anger in the sway of her hips, the proud tilt of her head. He put his hand on the nearby trunk of a tree and leaned against it, feeling robbed of his breath. They had been together for years now, fighting alongside Hercules, earning a king’s ransom, building their fortunes and their futures. They had fought together, drank together, slept—well, near each other, under the same stars and around the same campfire—all that time. In battle, he knew her like the back of his hand. Could feel where she was at all times, could predict her movements. Truly, they were comrades in every sense of the word. She was one of them—one of the boys. Like a brother to him.

Except that she wasn’t a brother. Or a boy.

In fact, Autolycus found it harder and harder to ignore the fact that his Amazonian “brother-in-arms” was simply one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

He shook his head, cursed under his breath. He didn’t need this. He had his plans—had them all laid out before him. All he had to do was build the road to his dreams, brick by shiny golden brick, until at last he could retire like a king. When that happened, he would not be hurting at all for female company whenever he desired it. But a woman of his own was something he’d never really allowed himself to think about.

There was nothing under the heavens that could complicate a man’s plans faster and more thoroughly than a woman. Look at Hercules. He had loved his family—they had been his strength, his motivation—right up until they became his liability. The king of Athens had wasted no time in their gruesome destruction, in a bid to emasculate and destroy the man he believed to be his rival for power, and he had very nearly achieved his ends. Autolycus was not about to make the same mistake.

Women were a diversion, nothing more. A beautiful, soft and very pleasurable reward for a job well done. He could have all he wanted along those lines with a fat enough purse. Or even sometimes without it. Women seemed to find his face pleasant enough that they would willingly lay with him for just the pleasure he could bring them with his body alone, which of course, was a double win—the more gold he got to keep, the better. But a woman of his own was a far more expensive proposition, and would be a chink in his armor he could ill afford, even if it did not significantly empty his pockets.

So why then, could he not stop thinking of Atalanta? How had he allowed her to get under his skin so deeply that her bejeweled eyes haunted his dreams? When had it happened that he began to lay awake at night, watching her sleep across the fire? Why had he found himself worrying every time she left his sight?

Bollocks.

As in, she had both of his, firmly in her grasp.

He muttered a series of colorful curses as he found himself marching after her, a lamb for the slaughter. The sound of splashing water reached him before he caught sight of the pile of her clothes, armor and gleaming weapons on the bank of the river.

He sucked in a breath.

She was not far away, and the flash of her fair skin, caressed by sun and water, was enough to blind him with lust. His manhood stiffened instantly, and he could think of nothing but diving in after her, capturing her in his arms and claiming her. But something else besides just his gentlemanly nature prevented him—he knew Atalanta was still a virgin. And he supposed, as he himself was not the marrying kind, that someday she would find a man of her own and wish to go to him in purity. He should not rob her of that.

The thought rose to his mind, unbidden, that he should like very much to be that man. And that if the man was any other than himself, he should cheerfully cut out the villain’s heart and fry it for breakfast.

“What in the name of all the gods are you doing here?!” She demanded in outrage, startling him from his thoughts. Apparently, his presence had been discovered.

He recovered himself quickly, leaned casually against a large boulder and crossed his arms.

“I came to get water for the camp, but now that I see it has been soiled, I shall look upriver.” He lied smoothly. By the gods, the water was clear here.

“YOU!” She huffed in indignation and set a spray of water flying towards his shoes. “When I get out of here, I will skewer you like the pig you are! Begone! Can you not leave me in peace for half an hour together?!”

“You really think I came down here to admire you?” Tearing his eyes from her, he looked at his fingernails as if completely disinterested, affecting a laugh. “Perhaps if you were woman enough to grow a pair of real breasts I would, but as it is…” he shrugged.

Her eyes narrowed and flashed blue fire at him, enough to fry him where he stood.

The gods help him, he thought and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. Oh yes. He did want her. Damn it all to hades and himself as well. He wanted her more than his next payday.

To his great surprise, she swam straight towards him, eyes narrowed on him the whole way. Then before he could react, she rose up out of the water like a siren, water streaming off her naked body, caressing every gorgeous curve—right before him.

“Atalanta! Wh—what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Her voice spat venom. “You’ve managed to spoil my swim and so I’m getting out.” She chose a large, flat rock nearby and lay atop it, arms behind her head, and stretched out, gloriously naked. “Since I am only a brother to you, it should not disturb you in the least to see me this way. You hardly noticed, I am sure. And since waiting for you to leave me in peace will render me my death with cold, I won’t bother with modesty. But if you say one more thing to me, Autolycus, I will skewer you where you stand. I am in no humor to bear more of your insults today. Be silent or be gone.” She closed her eyes and lay, sunning herself. “Or I will happily send you to hades myself.”

There was no danger of that. Autolycus could not find his voice. And he wasn’t entirely sure his feet were still under him, either. There was a bitterness to her words and to the action itself that did not escape him, nor did the tears in her voice. He had been harsh with his words to her, he knew, but it had been in jest. And…more in an effort to refocus his own mind—to force his thoughts away from her. He had never aimed to truly insult. As if by pushing her away with his tongue he would think less of where he’d like to be using it on her.

Had she truly taken offense, then?

Thoughtfully, he went to the bank without another word and retrieved her clothing and armor. He shook it out, laying the cloth items on the rock he’d been standing next to so they could dry, standing up her armor nearby. Her quiver and bow he took to her.

“Here,” he said, casting his eyes down and away from the perfection of her body. “Don’t fall asleep.” Then on impulse, he reached into his cloak, pulled out one of his knives and handed it to her. “Take this too. In case you need it.” With his eyes still lowered, he made her a bow and walked away up the bank, back to camp.

* * *

Atalanta watched Autolycus go in abject shock. She had expected him to laugh at her. To hurl insults at her body as skillfully as he hurled the knife she now held. To ridicule her until there was nothing left of her pride, now that she was bared entirely before his scrutiny. In the white-hot heat of her anger, she had made a deliberate target of herself--to bring all of his insults to the fore and get them over with. To invite the conflict so that she might rail at him in return, or perhaps to finally cure herself once and for all of the pathetic delusion she had that someday she might win his esteem. But he had not done any of those things. He had shown her respect and been kind to her instead—laying her sodden clothing out to dry, and bringing her protection before leaving her in peace at last. His words had been soft—far softer than she’d ever heard from him before. Perhaps she had finally shamed him, and now maybe now he would leave her be.

The thought should have brought her peace, but it did not. She covered her eyes and huffed her exasperation, more confused then ever. She almost wished he had laughed, it would have made it all so much simpler.

* * *

“And where have you been?” Amphiaraus asked as Autolycus tromped back into camp.

“You’re the seer, you tell me,” he groused.

“Ah,” Amphiaraus smiled and chuckled. “Got the better of you, did she?”

“What are you rambling about?”

He shook his head. “What the fates decree will be, my friend. You cannot fight the will of the gods.”

“I don’t intend to fight it,” he said, pulling at the stakes of his tent, packing up his things and loading them into his chariot. “The gods have willed I become a very rich man. Why under Olympus would I wish to fight that?”

“That’s not what I refer to, and you know it.”

“Just…stop nattering at me. I’m in no temper for it.”

“Let me guess,” said Hercules, coming into the clearing. “Atalanta?”

“Why is everyone suddenly so interested in Atalanta?”

“That’s not the question you should be asking,” he friend said casually as he took a chunk of meat from a skewer near the dying fire into a large paw and tore a bite. “The question you should be asking is why _you_ are so interested in Atalanta.”

“Who says I am?”

Both men chuckled.

“Anyone who has eyes can see you can not pry yours from her,” Amphiaraus said.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Why do you not stake your claim, my friend?” Hercules asked.

“I have no claim to stake.”

“Do you not? You could have fooled me, the way your eyes devour her every time she is within your line of sight. And the poor girl can barely stir from the fireside before you are stepping in to ask where she is going.”

Autolycus stopped packing and sat down on the log next to his friend with a sigh. “She’s not part of the plan.”

“Who’s plan. Yours? Or the gods’?” Amphiaraus asked.

“My plan!” he said with sudden vehemence. “Mine! My own plan for my own life! I don’t need a bloody…woman! And I don’t need the—gods—to come in and override what I’ve worked so bloody hard for all this time!”

Hercules chuckled.

“Autolycus, what you need more than anything else is precisely a woman! One, good woman. One who will keep you grounded and give you something besides gold to fight for. I can think of no better candidate for that role then Atalanta.”

He studied his hands, shaking his head. “I can’t. I can’t do it! I can’t.”

“Why not? You’ve not developed a sudden taste for boys, have you?” Amphiaraus asked.

“What? No! It’s not that.” He sighed. “If I reach for her—” he shook his head. “Forget it.”

“Speak, my friend. You know we are your brothers.” Hercules clamped a large hand on his shoulder, almost knocking him off the log.

“If I reach for her,” he said in a quiet voice. “I fear she will be…taken from me. I dare not. I dare…not.”

His words ricocheted around the clearing.

“I’m sorry,” he said to his friend, now silenced, his dark eyes haunted by his own ghosts.

“I have not foreseen such a fate for you..”

“It doesn’t matter what you’ve foreseen, does it? You’ve predicted your death twice now and it hasn’t happened yet!”

Amphiaraus, shrugged, conceding the point.

“My fate is not yours, Autolycus,” Hercules said softly. “Do not shrink from reaching for your own happiness because of what happened to mine.”

“There is no happiness to reach for! Have you both taken leave of your senses? Atalanta does not care for me. She wouldn’t have me anyway. So it’s a moot point.”

“How do you know? How will you ever know unless you take the chance?” Amphiaraus asked.

“I don’t want a woman!”

“I think you do. I think you want that one very much. And until you accept the fact, and set your mind to reach for her, you will never know if you would be accepted or not.” Hercules said. “And you will become even more bitter and alone than you are now.”

“He’s right,” Amphiaraus said. “And the gods know we can’t take much more of your spleen as it is. For the sake of all the gods hold holy, please. Make your intentions known to her, take her to your bed and be done with it. Do us all a favor and stop pacing circles around her like a wild stag in the rutting season. It is insufferable. Most of all for Atalanta.”

Autolycus studied his hands. “Is it really so obvious?”

“Yes,” they both echoed.

“Damn me to hades,” he said, huffing a laugh. “Very well. I will consider your words. She has given me…much to think on already this morning.”

“Has she?” Amphiaraus asked a little too eagerly.

“She who? Atalanta? What has she done? What have I missed, Uncle?” Iolaus asked, coming himself into the campsite.

“Nothing,” Autolycus said decisively, and the boy shrugged.

“Iolaus, go find Atalanta, tell her we wish to strike camp and leave soon,” Hercules ordered.

“NO!” Autolycus cried, instantly standing. “I will go and tell her. I—know where she is.”

He turned and stomped away from the camp back down to the river, the chuckles of his friends chasing his heels. Let them laugh. He’d be damned before he let any of them lay eyes on her beautiful form, let alone Hercules’ randy little nephew. The sight of Atalanta sunning herself naked was a sight he would preserve for himself, and himself alone.

* * *

She heard him coming before she saw him, but it was enough. She sent an arrow whizzing past his ear, zinging firmly into the tree beyond his head.

“Oh,” he said, coming into view. “I see you’re dressed and ready to go. Good. The others sent me to fetch you back. We’re leaving soon.”

She stormed over to him, the furies infusing her, stopping only when she stood so close to him her body touched his own. She ignored the frisson the contact created in her and narrowed her eyes at him. “If. You. Ever. Breathe a word. Of this day to me hereafter. Next time. I will not miss.”

There was no humor in his eyes, nor a trace of his usual arrogant swagger, and for a moment it threw her off balance. His deep green eyes bored into hers without a word. As her confusion mounted her anger spiked. Before she could do him violence though, he turned away and walked to the tree where her arrow had lodged itself. With a mighty heft, he pulled it free, cleaned its head, and handed it back to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply. “Truly.”

Her confusion deepened. For which transgression was he sorry, exactly? But she had no time to question. He turned and walked up the hill, and she followed.

Her puzzlement grew all the more when she reached the others, and found herself in the midst of an awkward silence. There was something in the air she could not define. A crackling tension, as if charged by lightening. As if the entire camp were holding their breath, watching her. Had the gods visited? Had an enemy? Had they received ill tidings of some sort? Her instincts detected no threat. What, then, had come over everyone? And why would none meet her eye?

Had Autolycus told them about what she had done? What he had seen of her body?

The thought froze the blood in her veins. In her anger, she had been over hasty to provoke him, she acknowledged that now. There had been a part of her that had risen up and wanted to dare him to tell her she was not a woman in the face of her nakedness. But he had not risen to the bait, and afterward she had turned her fury inward on herself. Did he view her as childish now? Or had she shamed herself so much that he would not even tease her? Why did she allow him to get under her skin so? Did he now look down upon her? Did they all? Did he pity her?

She ignored her swirling questions and the charged silence around her as best she could, packing her chariot with haste and harnessing her horses without words to any of them, eager to be gone. Eager to put this whole incident behind her. The sooner something else of significance happened, the sooner they could all forget it.

Before they set off though, she made her way to Autolycus one more time, to return his knife.

“I had no need of it, as I told you I would not,” she said, swallowing hard, “But I thank you, nonetheless.”

His jewel-green eyes locked with hers when she chanced a look up at him. He smiled softly, taking the knife and sheathing it inside his cloak. “Better safe than sorry. You’re welcome.”

She was aware that all eyes were on her as she made her way back to her own chariot and readied her horses for their long journey.

The afternoon was passed blissfully in silence, with only the rumble and rattle of the horses and chariots to accompany her. Her thoughts, though, did not stray far from the man whose chariot was immediately behind her. She could feel his eyes, boring into her all day, and had great cause to regret her anger of the morning as she contemplated what he must be thinking of her now. They pitched camp in the late afternoon. As was their custom, Atalanta prepared her quiver and bow to follow Hercules on the hunt for food when he suddenly shook his head. “It is time I trained Iolaus to do more than sing for his supper. He will accompany me tonight.”

“Can I not join you also?”

Hercules turned his face from her. “You know we need two hunting parties to widen our net. Autolycus will accompany you. Amphiaraus will remain with the camp.”

“But—”

He did not raise his eyes to her, or wait for her reply as he and Iolaus disappeared to the right.

“Looks like it’s just you and me,” Autolycus said from behind her. “Shall we?”


	2. And You and I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Autolycus goes hunting with Atalanta. It doesn't quite go the way either of them thought it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “A man conceived a moment's answers to the dream  
> Staying the flowers daily, sensing all the themes  
> As a foundation left to create the spiral aim  
> A movement regained and regarded both the same  
> All complete in the sight of seeds of life with you…
> 
> Coming quickly to terms of all expression laid  
> As a moment regained and regarded both the same  
> Emotion revealed as the ocean maid  
> A clearer future, morning, evening, nights with you
> 
> And you and I climb, crossing the shapes of the morning  
> And you and I reach over the sun for the river  
> And you and I climb, clearer towards the movement  
> And you and I called over valleys of endless seas…”
> 
> (”And You and I”, Yes, 1972).

**Chapter 2—And You and I**

"Why, in the name of all the gods, did I get stuck hunting with you?"

A thousand witty remarks flew to his mind, but Autolycus did not give them voice. He had spent the better part of the day deep in thought, watching her as she drove her chariot before him, the events of the morning heavy on his mind, and the sight of Atalanta bathing resting heavy on his heart, as well as in other parts of his body.

In truth, he'd been weighing and measuring much this day, including the words of his brothers upon the matter. So he followed her without a word, readying his knives for the hunting that lay ahead.

There was no question he desired her. And after this morning, he could scarce think of anything else. Could not help himself undressing her as she stood before him, his eyes hungry to see her thus again. To say nothing of how he wanted to explore her with more than just his eyes.

But it was deeper than lust, which is what complicated everything. He cared for her. He did worry when she was out of his sight. He thought of her future, of her needs. Of how he might please her once he'd brought her to his bed, not merely himself and his own pleasure.

But he had never acted upon it because he respected her too much to simply bed her and assuage his lust for a night. To say nothing of the fact that once would never be enough for him with her. He realized this fact without question. She brought out all his protective feelings, but more than that--she brought out his possessiveness.

He wanted her for himself. All for himself. As in, never could he bare to see her with anyone else. He understood well that once he ever had a taste of her, he would never be able to let her go. Which led him precisely back to the problem at hand--what to do about it.

Should he reach for her, in truth? It was an earth-shaking question. If he reached for her, it upset all of his plans. All of them. Might even call into question his current life, to say nothing of hers. For once he took a woman for his own--even Atalanta, who was part of their merry little band already--then suddenly, his future was no longer simply his own. She would be his to care for. To plan and provide for. To protect. Having her would change everything--on the battlefield and off. In bed, and out of it.

And even if her needs were few, they would cost dear. Oh, of course, she would not exactly come to him with nothing--she had earned her share of the gold as well. But material concerns had to be considered, nonetheless. And what if her plans and desires did not agree with his own? Which dream would he then relinquish--his long-held, carefully constructed plans for himself, or Atalanta? For he was no fool--he recognized enough to know some sacrifices would have to be made. So the question became--which could he live without?

At this point he was well aware he had squirreled away a nice, gleaming little pile of gold, but he was not yet as comfortably set as he would wish to be, which meant of course that they would both need to continue fighting for a time to augment their nest egg. And with continued fighting now there would be heightened risk.

Would he wish his wife to fight alongside him anymore, where she may be hurt or killed? Or would he wish to spirit her away somewhere safe? Not that she would allow him to in any case. But how would it affect him in battle if half his instincts were devoted to protecting her versus seeing the job done?

And on and on his questions went.

So he came down to it--the weights and scales of the matter. Was it worth every change he would have to implement, every change he was capable of foreseeing, to have Atalanta at his side forever? Could he at all live without her, and if he could--that would surely mean he should. Wouldn't it?

Regardless, things would not continue the way they had forever. Change was an inevitable part of life. Who knew when and where the golden trail would end? When the day came for them to go their separate ways, could he bear watching her follow a different path--with another man? The answer to that question came disturbingly quick to mind.

NO.

Not even if she went to Hercules himself could he bear it.

_Hercules with Atalanta._

This was not the first time that thought had come to his mind. His blood boiled with jealousy sometimes to see the tender affection in her eyes when she looked at his friend, the soft tenor of her voice as they spoke together, her maidenly blushes and smiles.

Oh, sure, she admired and looked up to him. There was not a female alive who didn't stir, didn't eye his friend secretly--and not so secretly--everywhere they went. But Atalanta had more than just that reason to adore him. Hercules was her personal savior and her hero. He had but to crick one meaty finger in her direction, and she would be his. The only thing that had prevented it was the big man's broken heart, and the fact that he viewed Atalanta more as a sister than as a lover, thank all the gods. But such feelings might change under the right conditions.

No. Standing on the sidelines watching the two of them together would be the worst fate of all.

Nor even could he bring himself to share her, did it come down to it. In his home of Sparta, certainly such practice was commonplace. Especially for a woman like Atalanta--so fierce and fine a warrior in her own right, so healthy and strong and beautiful. She would have her pick of men there, certainly more than one. And even though such a custom was familiar to himself, Autolycus could not bear even the thought. Not with a friend like Hercules, and certainly not with the men of his own city. Not with any man.

No, he wanted her for himself alone.

Such had been the course of his thoughts throughout the day. Round and round they went until his head was spinning.

He perceived himself to be standing upon a precipice. The time for burying his feelings and postponing the inevitable were past. The moment of decision was nigh. Now he would make a decision that would forever decide his course, for better or for worse. And as he stood gazing at Atalanta, at the ferocious light in her impossibly blue eyes, he had never been more certain of anything in all his life.

The only trouble was, he suddenly found he did not know how to go about winning her at all.

Oh, he knew how to bed a woman. But his conquests had always been either freely offered, or bartered in gold, and the negotiations for such an encounter were always entered into with the absolute directness of a business proposition. But then, none of those had ever been conquests of the heart. That, he understood, was a different matter entirely.

To win a woman for more than just a pleasurable evening, one needed to woo her--to win her heart as well as her body. This would be especially true for Atalanta, whose heart, he knew, was as fragile as she was strong. If he approached her in the usual way he did a woman when he wanted her, the best he could hope for was refusal. The worst might cost him a part of his body far too near and dear to him to take the risk.

And that was where Autolycus found himself suddenly at a loss for how to begin. He was certainly on tenuous footing already, for dimly the thought had begun to occur to him that Atalanta might well and truly hate him.

And if so, what in the name of all the gods was he supposed to do to put it right?

Hercules, the great ox, had done this on purpose--doubtless his own ham-fisted way of bringing matters to a head. Autolycus didn't know if he should thank his friend or punch him. But as he rather suspected the later would merely break his own fist, he might as well go along with his friend's clumsy attempt at matchmaking.

"The terrain is right for hart," he said, firmly sidestepping the whole issue of wooing her and concentrating on the matter at hand. "If we're blessed by the gods, we should be able to fell a beast fit to feed us for a week."

He was aware of the sharp look she cast him, of her brow furrowing in confusion before she turned back to her task, readying her bow. He never missed an opportunity to bait her. He could almost hear her thoughts as she wondered what had brought about this change.

"Do not get in my way, or I'll happily fell you instead," she said sharply as she stepped away from him.

With a nod of tacit understanding, they separated. She set off to the left, melting into mist and trees as he turned to the right, pulling his knives from their holsters and turning his attention to the more immediate hunt, tuning his ears, his nostrils, casting around for game.

He heard the beast before he saw it. A great boar, with tusks as long as his arm, rooting in the soft undergrowth for food. Within throwing range, it appeared before him, stepping into the clearing ahead of him like a gift from the gods. He was upwind, and had not yet been seen. He stalked closer, silent, preparing his knives for throwing.

Just a little closer...just a little more into the clearing would allow his arm more free-range of motion...would sink his knife in the beast's neck...

A startled cry ripped through the silent grove, and his prize boar tore off through the undergrowth, squealing in fright.

He turned and ran in the direction of her cry and found her crumpled to the ground, her bow before her.

"Atalanta!" He sheathed his knives and went to her.

"It's my ankle," she said through gritted teeth. "I tripped over a root."

He bent to inspect her leg.

"Can you put weight on it?"

"No! I have already tried."

Carefully he unlaced her sandal, slipping it off. Her ankle was bruised and already appeared puffy. He put her shoe back on and laced it tight to keep the swelling at bay.

"Pick up your bow. I have to get you back to camp."

"I got the hart," she said, pointing into the mist-enshrouded trees. "He lies there. Better you should bear its carcass back to camp instead of mine. That way we can eat. And doubtless it will be less distasteful to you too."

This last was said under her breath, but he heard it anyway. That was what she thought then, that he could not bear her? He swallowed hard. He supposed he had given her that idea, after all his hard words. But sorting that out would have to wait until she was out of danger.

"No. There is a great boar in these woods, not far away. I was upon him when I heard you cry. I cannot risk leaving you here."

"I can defend myself."

"Sure you can," he said, stooping to put his hands beneath her knees.

She shirked from his touch.

"Do not touch me!"

"Do not be foolish! How then am I to get you out of here?"

"I can walk."

"Okay then. Stand and walk. Why are we having this conversation?" He asked, thoroughly provoked.

She glared at him, her eyes hard as ice. She raised herself up to her knees, and staggered to her feet unaided, tentatively putting out her foot.

Autolycus caught her before she crumbled back to the forest floor.

"Right, no more argument. Up you go."

"I will not!" Her chest was heaving, there were tears in her eyes. "I would rather die at the tusk of a boar than give you one more reason to mock me! Go and get the hart or do not. Please yourself. I will make my own way back."

"Atalanta..."

She hobbled away, pain infusing her every feature, leaning on her bow, two rivers of blood coursing down its sides from where she gripped its bladed end for support.

He could take no more.

"If that's the way you want it, fine," he said, and swooping down before her he hoisted her by the waist over his shoulder in one quick movement, one hand on the back of her thighs, grabbing her bow with his other hand.

"Put me down!" she cried, her fists pommeling his back, her good foot kicking him in the belly. Her aim--thankfully--was a little high of her target.

"Nope," he said easily, shifting her slightly to take his manhood farther out of her range. "Now be a good girl, and stop beating me for saving you, or else you'll provoke my temper." He turned his head and bit her lightly on the bottom. It was a playful bite, not enough to hurt her. But enough to wet his appetite for more.

"Ooh! How dare you!"

"And while I have your attention," he continued pleasantly, "Let us get a few things straight between us, eh? For starters, I do not find you distasteful in the least. Far from it. Gods, woman, don't you know how to tell when a man wants you?"

She went very still.

"What?"

Well, that got the ball rolling for sure, he thought. So much for wooing. "I said, don't you know how to tell when a man wants you? As in, me. Wanting you."

"You--want me? But I am barely a woman, as you are so fond of telling me!"

"I have tried to convince myself of that, fair Atalanta, to no avail. You are every bit a woman, and I want every bit of you for my own."

"But--you do nothing but find fault with me! You cannot stand the sight of me!"

"Is that what you truly believe of me?"

"Yes! You have made that abundantly clear."

"Right then." He set her down, propped her against the trunk of a tree, drinking in the blue fire of her eyes for a delicious moment before seizing her mouth with his.

* * *

Atalanta gasped when his lips touched hers, and for one glorious moment, she didn't feel her ankle anymore. He sighed into her, mouth caressing, commanding her own as his hand gently cupped her chin, angling her to take her deeper.

She allowed herself one moment to memorize the soft, warm touch of his hands, the sweet pliancy of his lips, the tickling rasp of his beard against her skin, the hot wetness of his tongue, flicking between her lips, seeking, exploring, tasting her as she tasted him.

For one glorious minute, she savored his kiss. His touch. His spicy, woodsy scent. The soft warmth of his breath mingling with hers. Let herself pretend that he was hers, and she his. Let herself dream, imagine, and commit every bit of it to memory.

Then, with all the force she had to bring to bear, she shoved him away and slapped him hard across his face.

"How...DARE...you!" She gritted, cursing the tears that sprang to her eyes. Why couldn't it be true? Why couldn't he love her? But she knew he did not. She could not afford to allow him to make her think otherwise. He would take the one thing she had left to her name--her heart--and leave her. The tongue that so caressed and inflamed her now would taunt her mercilessly ever after.

His hand rose to his cheek, his eyes wide with shock.

Ye gods, why did he have such beautiful eyes?!

"Why must you mock me so!" She startled herself by saying. "Why can you not leave me in peace?"

"Atalanta, I do not mock you!"

"You expect me to believe that?"

"It is the truth, I swear it!"

"How many times have you insulted me? How many times have you ridiculed me for being no real woman, and now you have the gall to kiss me so? Ye gods, if you are so starved for female attention, why in the name of Olympus did you not bed that woman in Thrace?"

He blinked. 

"What woman?"

"The one who was throwing herself at your manhood at the feast!"

A smile curved his lips. "Saw that, did you? How interesting. And here I was, thinking you were so lost in the glory of your arm-wrestling prowess that you had barely noticed me all evening."

"Well? Why did you not bed her?" She insisted, evading his jab. "I've never seen you hesitate before. And she was very beautiful."

He took a step closer, eyes like green fire. "She was not the woman I burned for," he said simply.

"Does it truly matter?" she said, crossing her arms before her, wishing to take a step back but there was still a tree behind her, and her ankle was throbbing. "You have never refused before. I thought as long as she was female she was good enough for you."

"Yes it does matter. When a man has lost his heart, it matters very much." He reached out, brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, making her flinch.

He caught the movement, and gazed into her eyes with the most naked, open expression she had ever seen on his face. Suddenly all his macho bravado dissipated like a morning mist, and he looked...lost. Was this truly her arrogant, insufferable, invincible Autolycus? His piercing green gaze shined at her through a glaze of...tears. No hint of mockery now. She was convinced, without even knowing how she was convinced, that he was being more sincere with her than he had ever been. And it shocked her to the core.

"I do not tease you," he whispered. "Nor do I mock you when I say it. Atalanta...can you truly not bear me then? Have I made you hate me so? If it is true, I will do as you ask. I will leave you in peace. But I can go no longer without declaring to you what is in my heart."

She took a deep steadying breath against the frantic beating of her own heart.

"Go on. I am listening."

"I did not take that woman at the feast because she was not the woman I wanted. I wanted _you_. It started--I don't know when. I have tried to ignore it. Tried to push it--and you--away with harsh words. But it is to no avail. If anything, it has only made me want you all the more. Atalanta, do not mistake me when I say I want you. I do not want you for an hour. Or a day. I want you _forever_. I want you for my _own_."

"Please...if this is a jest..." she whispered, a tear coursing down her cheek.

"It is not. I swear it to you." He caught her tear on his fingers, and she did not flinch or move away from his touch.

Her eyes closed as she dared--for one moment--to believe him.

"You do not have to give me answer now. Only...will you think on it? Will you allow me to...woo you? To attempt to undo the damage I have done to you and my cause by my reckless words? Or is it...too late?"

She took a deep breath.

"It is not too late, Autolycus," she managed, feeling herself smile.

A smile lit his eyes too, and he breathed out in relief.

"You will consider me?"

"You truly want me to?" She laughed.

"That shocks you, does it?"

"Yes, considering I thought you hated me."

The smile vanished from his eyes.

"Never. I have never, and I could never, hate you Atalanta. Far from it."

"Kiss me." She startled herself by saying. Her ankle throbbed abominably, but she did not care. "If you are in earnest, kiss me, Autolycus. Make me feel the truth of your declaration."

His eyes ignited, his pink lips curled at the corners with a smile. "This is how you would have me woo you?" He said, and his eyes were himself again. Restored to confidence, glowing with pleasure at her words. "Am I to take it you liked my kiss?"

"No," she lied. "Merely that I wish more of them for my consideration. I cannot accept you if I do not find your kisses favorable."

"No indeed," he said, licking his lips as his gaze fell to hers. "That is definitely a condition of my terms. You must find all of my caresses to your liking."

"Have you more caresses than just your kiss that you are offering for my acceptance?"

"Far more. I offer you infinite kisses, and intimate caresses of every kind." He stepped into her, his great hands spread on either side of her head against the tree trunk, his eyes soft, burning into hers. He leaned in, nuzzling her, his breath fanning warmly against her skin. She breathed in the scent of him--the scent of horse and leather, of campfires, and a spicy wildness all his own. "Sweet Atalanta..." he whispered, soft lips grazing hers, beard rasping against her skin.

"Quit stalling," she forced the words from her mouth, her eyebrow arched in challenge. "And kiss me Autolycus. Unless your first kiss was all you have to give."

He growled as his mouth sealed itself over hers. His kiss was wilder, deeper than before, a kiss of such aching beauty as she would never have dreamed to receive from him.

This time, she did more than let herself enjoy him. She kissed him back, with all the ferocious passion of her heart.

She kissed him angrily, in defiance and challenge, rebuking him for his many abuses, for all the long nights she'd cried quietly in her tent, for the raging desire in her own breast for even just one gentle word from him. For all of that, and for the hunger she felt when she watched the grace in which he moved, admired the stalking, panther-like motion of his stride, for the hundreds of times she'd watched from across a crowded hall as he led other women away with him to bed them.

It had made her seethe with rage and jealousy--had made her stand before burnished shield and quiet lake, staring at her own reflection, wondering what they had that she did not that so allured him. Wondering what heaven they all found in his arms.

Yes. Long had she desired him. Desired and hated him for not once noticing her. She had never thought to find herself on the receiving end of his kisses, his soft words. It was as if the gods had smiled on her, sending her him at last.

Her kiss fired his blood. She felt him react--surprised at first, and then a resurgence of passion poured into his kiss, as if the long-banked flame of his soul had flared, burning them both, searing them together.

He pulled back abruptly, severing the connection, gasping for breath.

She did as well. And for a moment, was far too afraid to find his eyes. When he said nothing, she opened hers to find him smiling, a look of pure, smug masculine satisfaction on his face.

She groaned inwardly. Far too much. She'd given him far too much. He saw through her now. And now the abuse would begin in earnest.

"By all the gods I never thought existed," he smiled. "That is the best kiss I have ever received."

She felt her face darken with humiliation. "Do not suppose it means you have been accepted."

"You would have more caresses, hmm?" his words, his lips tickled her ear. "What must I do to convince you? How would my lady have me please her? Would you create for me a labor to complete? Or ten?"

Her eyelids fluttered closed. Her ankle was becoming impossible to ignore, and that made her angry. She didn't want to move from this place, lest whatever spell had come over him dissipate. She wanted him. Here and now. All of him. She wanted his arms around her, his manhood inside of her...she wanted to lose herself in the pleasure of his arms. Wanted to drown forever in the deep green of his eyes, and know his heart was hers.

For her heart belonged to him already.

She sighed, again committing him entirely to memory. They should not linger here indefinitely. If she allowed herself to sink to the forest floor with him the way she wanted, they would be vulnerable to attack by man or beast.

"We must get back," she said woodenly. "Hand me my bow. And allow me to lean on you."

He gazed at her a moment, blinking.

"Atalanta..."

"My foot pains me. My hand too. Unless you would keep me here all day and night whilst you ramble on?" She jutted her chin out, standing as straight and as proud as she could manage.

Before she could react, he'd swooped down and swept her up into his arms, cradling her body against his chest. His eyes were disconcertingly close, and the warmth of him pressed into her, as well as the strength of his arms supporting her, made her feel weak. But at least her blasted foot had stopped throbbing.

"Put your arm around me," he whispered, "Unless you find it too distasteful." His lips curled in a mocking smile, but she knew she was not the target of his mockery.

"You are not distasteful to me. So long as you are being civil."

"Am I not being civil now?"

"You are."

"Well there you go. I'm safe for you to put your arm around me then."

She slid her hand awkwardly around his strong neck, coming to rest at the back of his head, her fingers curling involuntarily to caress his close-cropped hair. He turned his hooded eyes to her knowingly, eyebrows rising inquisitively, a small, smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"So, am I to take it then that you are considering my proposition?" He said as he made his way back to camp. "Will you allow me to woo you?"

She arched an eyebrow in return. "The only reason I am here is because I cannot walk. I requested you allow me to lean on you."

"Yes, but this is faster. And better for your ankle." He sighed. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to keep you standing so long. Consider this an apology."

"Accepted--your apology that is. Not your offer."

"Is that a no for now, or a no forever?"

"You said I was permitted to consider."

"I did. I just want to know what direction you're considering me in."

"To answer that is to give you answer. I have not decided yet." _Yes!_ Her heart screamed. But she didn't dare give it voice. Not until she was more sure of him.

"I suppose that is fair enough. Is there aught I can do to sweeten the deal for you? Perhaps a wider sampling of kisses and caresses? So you can decide if you can bear me." He met her eyes with a smile.

"Perhaps."

"Later tonight? My tent or yours?"

"Mine," she replied. "So that I may toss you out on your ear when I tire of you."

"Deal," he said with a grin.

* * *

As Autolycus carried his woman back to camp, his heart was remarkably light. Though she had not entirely decided upon him yet, after that kiss, he had more cause for optimism than he would have thought possible but an hour past. And as he gazed at her, the taste of her sweet lips still on his mouth, he wondered what under Olympus he had ever waited for.

He should have done this long ago.

He carried her into camp and found the other hunting party had already returned with success, and Iolaus sitting alongside Hercules, skinning their kill.

"Well then," said Amphiaraus, stirring the pot already placed over the fire and preparing it with herbs, "Took you long enough. Your catch is certainly lovely enough, Autolycus, but I don't think you understand that the point of this endeavor was to bring us something we call all eat. Not just a tasty dish for yourself."

All three of his compatriots chuckled at this.

"Enough of that," he said, "Can you brutes not see we have a lady present?" he gazed down at his woman--for he knew now it would be only a matter of time before she was--and smiled. "A thousand pardons, Lady, I fear our conversation is too coarse for your ears."

"Oh. Suddenly I'm a lady, am I? Since when did that happen?"

"Hmm," he pretended to consider. "Perhaps it was this morning when I saw you bathe. Or maybe just now when you pinned me down and kissed me at the tree."

" _I_ \--kissed _you_?!" She said with mock-outrage. 

"Wait--you saw her bathing?" 

Hercules cuffed his nephew over the head as Autolycus gently set Atalanta down on the edge of her chariot.

"Amphiaraus. Your services are required."

"Oh, not mine. I'm a seer, not a priest."

"Not for that, she's injured, you old sod. She's twisted her ankle and cut her hand. She needs you to prepare a poultice and some binding."

"Let me see," Hercules rose and went to her, gently touching her hand first, then he moved to examine her ankle and unlace her shoe. "He is correct. Both wounds will need binding. Rest here," he said tenderly--too tenderly for Autolycus' liking, and he hovered near her as the others went to and fro gathering things to help her. 

Once her hand and ankle had been seen to with poultices and bindings, and she was comfortably settled with the foot propped on a rock, Hercules turned to him.

"So? Am I to assume it's settled?"

"What? Oh, yes, she felled a hart in the woods, but sadly, as I am not you, I was not able to carry them both out. Since there are wild boars running about, I thought it best if I carry _her_ instead and let the kill go."

"A wise decision, though it is a shame to waste the meat. But that is not of what I speak, and you know it, my friend."

"Suffice to say we've opened negotiations." Autolycus said with a smile.

"Good. I'm very glad to hear it." Hercules clamped a heavy hand down on his shoulder, hard enough to knock him to the ground.

"What is this?" Iolaus asked, looking from one face to another. "What is going on?"

"Atalanta has consented to consider having me."

"As what?" Iolaus asked, blanching.

"Her husband, dolt!"

"No! Fair Atalanta, I thought you were saving yourself for me!" The young man fell to his knees before her. "Princess, though thou art fair as Aphrodite, and I, just a humble teller of tales, I had hoped soon to impress you with my new warrior prowess. For I too, am capable of great deeds, as are any here present. Grant me a labor, and I shall complete it for the winning of thy fair hand." He moved to take her hand in his, but Autolycus intervened.

"On your feet, whelp," he said, slapping his hand away from her and kicking him in the rear, to the amusement of all present. "By the time _you_ completed any labor, you'd be too old to wed her anyway. Begone!"

"Fairest Atalanta, I hear even in noble Sparta, women may take more than one husband..."

"NO!" Autolycus thundered, and everyone in camp, Atalanta included, laughed.

* * *

Young Iolaus' jest and the pleasure on the faces of Hercules and Amphiaraus lifted her spirits even higher, and she found herself laughing with them all. And especially the pride and possessiveness in Autolycus' face, and the heat in his glance as he looked at her, gave her more pleasure than she thought it was possible for her to hold.

As they settled for dinner around the fire, he took her foot from the rock it rested on and placed it on his knee instead, caressing her leg, his fingers tracing light patterns higher and higher on her thigh, his eyes full of promise.

And when it came time to sleep for the night, she did as she promised, and invited Autolycus into her tent to further their negotiations. He stepped inside and tied it closed behind him, to the cheers of all but Iolaus, who kept calling for her to acknowledge his suit as well.

He turned to her then, arms crossed across his chest.

"Well, Lady? Have you decided what you will have of me this night?"

"I have. Come here, Autolycus."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh! Cliffhanger alert! Oh dearie me, whatever could Atalanta have thought of for Autolycus to do? Hmm...
> 
> Comments and thoughts, anyone?


	3. A Woman's Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Autolycus enters Atalanta's tent, he little suspects what awaits him. Is the price of her heart something he is willing to pay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...Rock on, ancient queen  
> Follow those who pale in your shadow  
> Rulers make bad lovers  
> You better put your kingdom up for sale  
> Up for sale..."  
> (Fleetwood Mac, "Gold Dust Woman", 1977)

**Chapter 3--A Woman's Worth**

Atalanta was more than ready for Autolycus when he made his way to her tent. All through their dinner, she’d thought about what her response would be. What she would have of him.

He stood in the doorway, a dark silhouette with the light of the fire behind him and the flickering jars of candle flame within her tent, set at all four corners of her sleeping place. The floor of her tent was comprised of a great carpet and augmented by hides and furs—the one luxury she permitted herself—along with several small cushions.

It was on her sleeping mat she now reclined, with the help of several cushions behind her back and one supporting her outstretched ankle, which, thanks to its wrapping and the wine she’d consumed at dinner, felt much less painful. To one side, she’d placed an obliging rock with a pleasing flat surface, on which sat a roll of parchment, quill and ink that she’d procured from Amphiaraus.

"Well, Lady? Have you decided what you will have of me this night?" He crossed his arms over his chest after tying the flap closed behind him, the sound of their comrade’s laughter behind the canvas fading as the deep green depths of his eyes glittered at her in a way that made her traitorous blood race through her veins.

"I have. Come here, Autolycus." She arched an eyebrow at him as he moved forward, sitting himself on the edge of her sleeping place, leaning towards her with hooded eyes, his lips curled in promise.

“Well then. Shall you have another kiss?” He leaned towards her as he whispered, succulent lips so temptingly close to hers…

She leaned away, and his eyes opened wide in surprise.

“Not yet,” she said, in a business-like tone. “Additional kisses are provisional upon my satisfaction over our negotiations.”

He huffed a laugh as his eyebrows rose. “You want to talk business? Now?”

“I thought to speak in the only language you understand, yes.”

He gave her a dramatic sigh and ran a hand down his face. “Very well. List your terms, Lady. I am listening.”

“I can’t help but see that I’m owed some…reparations.”

“Reparations?”

“For all the torment you have put me through these last several moons.”

“Torment? I said a few hard words, Lady, nothing more. That hardly amounts to torment.”

“Oh, but it does. Your words have been a constant torment.”

“Oh come now. My words to you have not been half so harsh as you pretend. And did not my kisses in the forest give you reparation for any unintended slights?” His eyes smoldered at her from beneath heavy lids. “Did my lips not reassure you of my tongue’s falseness? They were empty words, Atalanta. Nothing more.”

Her eyes narrowed. Why, she begged of all the gods, was he so damned handsome? In her mind, she cursed him profusely. She wanted to cry. Wanted to punch him straight in his beautiful mouth. Wanted to impale him on one of her arrows. Wanted to bear him to the floor of her tent and kiss him until dawn. Damn the man! Damn him into eternity for the storm he caused in her!

“If that is your attitude,” she said very carefully. “Then we have nothing further to say to one another. Negotiations are concluded. Take yourself out of my tent and consider your offer declined.”

“I retract the statement.”

“You cannot retract the statement while rolling your eyes.”

“I didn’t roll my eyes!”

“You did!”

“I was looking to the gods for guidance!”

“You have never done so in the entirety of your life, why start now?”

“Because…I’ve never felt so lost before.” He threw up his hands.

She huffed a sigh. “That is horse shit and you know it. If you are not here to negotiate seriously then get out of my tent and don’t ever come back.”

“What reparations do you seek?” He said, rubbing a hand down his face. “Whatever it is, it’s yours.”

She sat back, smiling. “That’s better. Do you want the full list now?”

“Yes!”

“Very good. Let’s begin with money, since I know that you love gold most above all things and all people.”

“Not true, or I wouldn’t be here so willing to part with what I suspect is going to be quite a lot of my share.”

“Point conceded. Therefore this negotiation will be a lot less painful than you anticipate.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

“You will pay me the flat sum of 1000 gold pieces as reparation for the torment you have caused me, which will also serve as surety that you will never again speak to me or of me with such disrespect ever again.”

Autolycus groaned, and covered his face with his hands. “Done,” he said in an agonized tone.

Atalanta smiled. She didn’t need Autolycus’ gold. Didn’t even desire it—she had plenty of her own. But Autolycus did care. He valued gold above all other things. Parting him from such a sizable sum was the most fitting retribution for his harsh words that she could possibly devise. Yes, she thought, watching the agony play across his features.

“Good,” she said, steepling her fingers, enjoying the power she exerted over him. “That is the past settled and done then. Now, with regards to the future, I propose the following—we will have a full merger of our interests.”

His eyebrows shot up and his expression cleared as he smiled. “Now we’re talking. Where do I sign?”

“Apart from the 1000 gold pieces. Which is mine to do with as I see fit.”

“Of course,” he said with a resigned sigh.

“It is to be a full merger--physically, as well as materially. As in, what material wealth and possessions are mine, are now yours. And yours are mine. And all decisions about the allocations of our combined wealth will be made jointly. I have earned my coin the same as you—I will not allow you to decide how it is to be spent.”

“Agreed. Done.”

“I am to be a full partner in all business matters pertaining to our marriage and the lives of any children we have. Where and how we live, and any other decision that relates in any way to my own life, I am to have a full say. And no decision can be made on my behalf without my knowledge or consent.”

“Agreed as well.”

“Our children’s future also. You will make no bargains with any other man regarding the marriage of our daughters or sons without my knowledge or consent. I am to be a full partner in all parenting decisions including training and education.”

“Understandable. I had not thought that far ahead yet. Imagine…us being parents.” He flashed her a smile of such sweetness it took her breath away. “You will make the most beautiful mother.”

“The deal, Autolycus. Do you agree?”

“I do. I said that already. Gods, you drive a hard bargain, Woman. Are we to argue this way all night?”

“If needs be. There is more.”

He groaned. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“Not good enough. Once you have what you want of me, you will easily forget your easy promises this night, or seek to argue the fine points later. I want my position and my expectations of you laid out in no uncertain terms. If we are to have a future together, both of us need to know now what that entails. This will be laid out in detail this night and agreed upon as such or there will be no deal.”

“Very well. Continue.” He said, something like respect and curiosity flickering in the depths of his eyes now that Atalanta found almost more satisfying than anything else she’d seen there.

So she continued.

“For the time being, we shall continue as we are now. But when I become with child, I will no longer fight. And neither will you. Whether we have hit your own personal targets or not. We will retire then and settle down someplace and begin our future at that time, if not before.”

“Where would you have us settle?” He asked. “Any particular place?”

She shook her head. “I do not feel tied to any one place. Where we settle can be decided at that time by mutual consent.”

“Good. Done.”

“From this day forward, you will treat me with honor. You will speak to and of me with respect. The day you do not will be the day all other agreements are null and void, and I will leave you, and take with me any children we have together. Forever.”

He was silent a moment.

“It will not happen.”

She sucked in a breath, for a moment misunderstanding. But the serious, almost pleading eyes he had shown her earlier in the forest was back as he gazed at her.

“I am sorry, Atalanta. For everything I said. I had no notion you put so much stock in my worthless words.”

“Do you agree?” She said evenly. She would not allow herself to soften towards him now. Too much was at stake.

He nodded. “I do.” His voice was so soft she hardly heard him. “And may mighty Zeus himself strike me dead if you should leave me thus. With the children. Ye gods, we don’t even have them yet and already I know such a fate would kill me.”

Her heart was stirred. More than stirred—by this and all of his other admissions this night. He had accepted all of her conditions outright. It was enough to melt her heart forever.

“Good. Now. You may give me your conditions. I am ready to hear them.” Her voice had gentled more than she liked, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He gave her a smile. “I confess I hadn’t thought of things between us in such businesslike terms. But you are right—this makes things easier. And I thank you for making your expectations plain.”

She inclined her head.

“I will give you everything you have asked for,” he said, leaning towards her earnestly. “And in return, you will be mine. As in—your body is mine, forfeit to me as spoils of war--to cherish and enjoy fully and completely, with the understanding that I will never raise my hand against you, harm you or force my attentions on you, or take from you any pleasure that I do not also give you in equal or greater measure.”

His eyes held hers, dark with promise, making her pulse race frantically.

“Agreed,” she said softly. “As long as your body is mine in exactly the same way.”

“Done.” He said, grinning. “Oh—and I have an exclusivity clause. Your favors, and the pleasure of your body is for my sole enjoyment alone. I will permit you no other lovers.”

“Agreed, if you give me the same.”

“I will. Forever, or until death claims one or both.”

“Done.” She said softly, smiling despite herself. “But if you break this particular oath, Autolycus, I will speed you along towards that death and my freedom in the most painful way I can devise, and I will send your bollocks and your manhood along ahead of you to hades, separated from your body by your own favorite knife.”

He huffed a laugh. “Done, Lady.”

“Anything else?”

“I would have your love,” he said, his voice taking on a husky tone. “Your heart, Atalanta, as well as your body.”

She took a ragged breath.

“I realize such a thing cannot be commanded. Therefore I would also like your direction—how can I win such a boon from you? What is the way to your heart, Lady? Do you require a bard such as Iolaus, to compose songs in praise of your beauty? Shall I drape you in finery? In jewels and silks, and perfumed baths? Or shall I perform for you labors, or build you a palace? Perhaps we should take long walks together, hand in hand, while I speak to you of my love? Or is it my kisses and caresses that will win me what I seek? I truly do not know. I have never…even sought to win a woman’s heart before. I haven’t the slightest idea how to go about it, and I fear I may lose you in the process.”

Her heart was in her eyes as she looked at him, and she blessed the dim candlelight for hopefully concealing as much from him. It was clumsily stated, but all the more precious for being so. She had never before seen Autolycus so unsure. There was something almost boyish about his honest question.

Was this her proud warrior? What force on earth, except the most profound love, could bring such a man to his knees?

“In all of these negotiations,” she said when she could trust herself to speak. “What is the one thing you noticed I asked you for?”

He was silent a moment, then huffed a laugh, nodding.

“Respect,” he said his eyes rising to hers. “Equality. Honor. Gods, I am a cack-handed fool.” He buried his face in his hands again.

“Well. Perhaps not entirely. Or I can guarantee you would not be here right now.”

He glanced up at her then, hope in his gaze. When she smiled, he reached for her hand and she granted it. He stroked the back of her knuckles a moment thoughtfully, then brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Why _am_ I here, fair Atalanta? Why under Olympus do you even suffer me in your presence after I have so pained you?”

She took a shuddering breath. “I don’t know. Why have I even cared so for your good opinions? I hated myself for caring. But I did care. I cared so very much. I wanted…just a smile from you. A soft word. Something that made me feel as though I was not a brother to you. But that you saw me as a woman. Possibly even an attractive one.”

He took her face into his hands and drew closer, nuzzling. “I will shower you in nothing but gentle words from this moment henceforth. I will open my heart and pour its contents at your feet, so that you will never again have cause to doubt that I well and truly love you.”

He leaned in to kiss her, but she placed a restraining finger against his lips.

“Not yet.”

He sighed and with a nod released her. “What else would you have?”

“I require proof of your words. Proof and reassurance that I will not easily be set aside when you have had your fill of me.”

“That will not happen.”

“So says every man when he wants a woman he has not yet had. And yet the world is full of faithless, fickle men.”

He shrugged, conceding the point.

“Therefore you will complete certain labors before I agree to wed you. A woman won is not easily forgotten. And I will have you win me, Autolycus. I will not pledge myself to you without proof of your sincerity. And you will not enter union with me thinking I am not a prize worth the winning.”

“What is it to be?”

“A series of events. You will compete for my hand against our brothers. If you win, I will wed you. If you lose, I win a full quarter of your wealth.”

He groaned. “Agreed. I knew women were expensive, but oh ye gods!” He covered his face.

“Now that we are agreed, you will sign the bottom of this parchment. As will I.”

“There is nothing on it.”

“Do you not trust me to fill in the details as we have outlined them?” She arched an eyebrow at him.

“Of course I do,” he said with a sigh, taking the quill and signing his name where she indicated.

She signed as well.

“Now. As promised,” she said, when that business was concluded, cupping his cheek with her hand and pulling him towards her. “You may claim your temporary prize.”

His lips seized hers with a hunger that almost sent her backwards on her fur-lined bed, pulling him down on top of her. Her hunger matched his own, and she permitted him to feel it in her kiss, in her sighs, in the way she whispered his name.

She kissed him like she’d never kissed any man—open-mouthed, her tongue tasting every last bit of his delicious man lips, exploring every corner of his mouth as he did hers. It was the most carnal kiss she had ever experienced, and he had returned it with a passion that melted her very bones, made her want to submit utterly to whatever he desired.

They kissed a long time, lost in each other, drowning in the new-found pleasure to be had in each other’s arms, until his heated kisses quested below her neck, and she again exerted all of her will to pull herself away from him, and declare this night of negotiations complete.

His disappointment was palpable as he rose from her sleeping place.

“On the morrow then, Autolycus.”

He turned back to her.

“You will win me on the morrow. And then, I will be yours, from that time forward, to bed or not as you please. That is fair, surely? And when we arrive in Athens, we will be wed.”

“Sleep well, lovely Atalanta. Tonight is the last night of your life that you will sleep alone.” With that he left her, tying the strings of her tent flap thoughtfully before making his way to the fire.

* * *

Atalanta’s kiss, and the promise of a much more satisfying night on the morrow took a great deal of the sting out of the devil’s bargain he had just made. By all the gods, she knew him well—too well, so it seemed. Not that he would have in any way mistreated her to begin with, but still she spoke the language of his heart with frightening accuracy, and had earned for herself a sort of grudging respect on the way by. Damn it all. How was it that even when she was shaking all the gold from his pockets, he found himself more deeply in love with her than ever before?

“That was quick,” Amphiaraus arched an eyebrow as he exited her tent and sat down before the fire. “We didn’t expect to see either of you before dawn. What went wrong?”

“Nothing,” he groused, tearing into another piece of meat as he stared into the fire.

Hercules arched an eyebrow at him and chuckled. “She drives a hard bargain, does she? I wonder where she learned that?”

“Shut up,” Autolycus said, reaching for his wine skin.

“For a man so close to acquiring his heart’s desire, you seem…starved.” Amphiaraus said with a chuckle.

“You didn’t honestly think she’d give herself to you, just like that, did you?” Hercules asked. “Especially not the way you’ve treated her for the last few months.”

“How much did you have to pony up?” Amphiaraus asked.

“What makes you think I had to give up any coin?”

“Because you never eat like that unless you lose money—and you’ve had no woman.” Hercules threw back his head and laughed.

“She has refused you?” Iolaus returned to the fire. “Has she considered me after all?”

“No.” Autolycus glared at him. “And it would do you no good if she did, you can’t afford her.”

“How much did she ask you for?”

Autolycus sighed. “I am to complete a series of labors, in the form of competitions with you all on the morrow. If I win, I get her. If I lose, she gets a full quarter of my wealth.”

The camp erupted into laughter, and a series of jests at his expense.

“I can’t say I blame her,” Amphiaraus said. “You have been an utter horse’s arse to her.”

“Cheer up,” Hercules said, pounding him on the back. “You’ll probably win.”

He huffed a derisive laugh. “I doubt she has designed these labors to play to my strengths.”

“Of course not. Where would be the challenge in that?” Iolaus said.

“With a prize like that dangled out in front of you, how could you fail to win?” Hercules said. “She’s a rare and beautiful woman. And she could be all yours.”

He shook his head. “Somehow I feel she’s farther away than ever.”

“Nonsense. She wouldn’t have even given you the labors if she didn’t want you. She’d have just told you no. This is just a bit of sport, my friend, nothing more. She wants you to win.” Hercules said. “Guaranteed.”

He thought again of her kisses with a sigh. No. She did not kiss him like a woman who wanted him to fail.

“I don’t suppose the gods have given me a favorable forecast for the outcome?” Autolycus said, turning to Amphiaraus.

“All I can tell you is that you have finally set foot on your right path. Have faith. You’re not terrible with a staff. I might stumble and fall into a hole. You never know what will happen.” And with that final bit of encouragement, Amphiaraus left for his own tent.

“This time to-morrow,” Hercules said quietly, nodding in the direction of Atalanta’s tent. “Set your mind to that. And there will not be a soul under Olympus who can stop you.”

“Think you she really wants me?” He said after Iolaus also left the circle of their fire for bed.

“I think you would know it if she did not. In no uncertain terms.”

“And you?”

“Do I want you? By all the gods, no.”

He chuckled. “And I for one thank them all for that. I meant her of course.”

“Do I want Atalanta?” Hercules shook his head. “She is as I said. A rare fine woman. Strong. Yet in her own way, delicate. Fragile. She requires a strong and tender hand, my friend. One whose lead she can respect and follow. But one whose gentleness for her knows no bounds. Do not let her prowess fool you. She is a warrior, but she has a woman’s heart. To be her husband, you will have to show her both.”

“How?” He shrugged. “I’ve never felt so at a loss before. I want her more than any gold or jewel. More than anything and yet I don’t know how to win her.”

“You must lay your heart open before her, Autolycus. Like you have never done before in the whole of your life. Bare yourself before her. Make yourself vulnerable. Give her in return what you ask of her.” Hercules sighed. “As to winning her,” he said, pitching his voice very low. “I think you have done so already. She has long admired you. All she wanted was a little tenderness.”

“She has said as much. What a fool I have been.”

“And yet she loves you.” Hercules clapped him on the back again. “When you open yourself to her, you invite her love for you to deepen beyond your wildest dreams. And there will not be a force under Olympus that can tear her from your side.”

“I have used that word already once today.” He said, dragging his hand down his face. “I don’t think she even noticed.”

“Give it time to sink in. But this morning, you were still taunting her.”

“I suppose that is true.”

“She will have her pound of flesh, make no mistake. You must allow her to have her own pride, even if it means swallowing yours. You must own, it is long past due her.”

“I do own it.”

“But take heart. She has far from denied you. She has merely challenged you. The morrow will be an opportunity for you to display your prowess for her to admire.”

“Or my humiliation for her enjoyment.”

“That as well.”

“You never answered my question.” He turned to look at his friend. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Hercules sighed. “Atalanta is not the woman for me. I had the woman of my dreams. She was taken from me. I have yet found any who can replace her. Were Atalanta to attach herself to me, she would marry a ghost. She deserves better.”

“Might she not call you back to yourself?”

He shook his head. “She is beautiful. And lovely in every way. But no. She would warm my bed, and I would give her my body. I would be kind and generous to her. But my heart would remain untouched.” He turned to Autolycus with a smile. “I know what is in your heart for her. You burn for her. It is clear to anyone with eyes enough to see. And she burns just as hotly for you. Take her for your own, Autolycus, with my blessing. And never forget what a priceless jewel you have won.”

“I still think if she thought she had any hope at all with you, she would never choose me.”

“You are wrong, my friend. My relationship with her is different. Trust me—she has eyes for no man but you. Why do you think your words tormented her so? Why do you think,” Hercules pitched his voice very low again, “that she has remained untouched? If you suppose it was for lack of opportunity you are a greater fool than I ever gave you credit for.”

“You cannot suggest she has been saving herself for me?”

“No. I do not. I do not think in her wildest dream she ever would have foreseen a day you would want her. But nevertheless, the fault is laid at your door. For no other man could stir her so. She has wanted none but you.”

Autolycus swallowed hard as joy threatened to overwhelm him.

“From her kiss, you would never know she was virgin,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve bedded scores of women who could never kiss like that.”

Hercules chuckled. “Take heart then. You will win her my friend. Your efforts tomorrow will give her dignity and worth. It will serve you both well.”

With a final clap on his back, Hercules made off to his own tent. Autolycus banked the fire, and with a last look of longing and anticipation towards Atalanta’s tent, he made for his own.

The last night of his freedom. He had never wanted to relinquish something so badly in all his life.


End file.
